


Beneath the Mask

by Almost_sad, LilacNoctua



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Art, Blood and Injury, Bodyguard, Canon-Typical Violence, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dancing, First Meetings, Illustrations, Intrigue, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reunions, Romance, Royalty, Victorian inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Almost_sad/pseuds/Almost_sad, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacNoctua/pseuds/LilacNoctua
Summary: “I noticed you,” Gaara told him. “Earlier, in the ballroom.”“During the waltz?” The man asked breathlessly.Gaara nodded.“So it was not just me then.”“Yes, I -” Gaara hadn’t thought this far ahead. Hadn’t considered how to explain the feeling that had compelled him to follow this stranger into the garden. The opening strains of a slow waltz drifted out from the ballroom.The man in green turned to Gaara and bowed. “Would you like to dance?”An assassin, an arrest, a betrayal. It all begins when Gaara's eyes meet Lee's across a crowded ballroom.
Relationships: Gaara/Rock Lee
Comments: 60
Kudos: 61
Collections: GaaLee Bingo





	1. To the Tune of the Waltz

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a collaboration between LilacNoctua (writing) and Almost_sad (drawing) and is built upon a concept by Almost_sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and its art were both created to fulfil the prompt "Masquerade" for Gaalee Bingo, card 6.  
>  **Content Warning** This chapter contains depictions of violence, blood, and an injury. The death of a minor antagonist is briefly described. There is a very brief reference to homophobia.

The ballroom was bathed in golden light, every surface draped with silk and garlands of fresh flowers. Pyramids of champagne glasses towered above the refreshment tables, and liveried servants bustled to and fro among the crowd.

The broad double doors stood open to the entrance hall and the pink tinged air of the late evening beyond that. Outside, gravel crunched beneath carriage wheels and party goers chattered excitedly as they made their way towards the door. 

Gaara leaned against one of the pillars at the edge of the second floor gallery, above the little stage where the orchestra sat in their stiffly starched collars, tuning their instruments. He watched the proceedings over his shoulder, his red velvet cape spilling over the railing. Rubies glistened around the eye sockets of the black skull mask that hid his scowl.

“You know, you could have picked a more cheerful mask,” Temari straightened up from where she’d been leaning against the railing beside him and tapped his shoulder with her fan. “That one’s awfully macabre.”

“It suits my mood,” Gaara rasped. 

Draped over the settee in the alcove across the hall, Kankuro chortled. “Gaara wouldn’t be Gaara if he wasn’t morbid and melodramatic. The whole outfit suits him.”

Gaara turned to glare at his brother and received a satisfied smirk in return. For the evening, Kankuro had traded his customary black clothing for an aubergine jacket and violet waistcoat. Instead of the usual paint, he wore a mask in the shape of a cat’s face and had painted his eyelids to look like a pair of glowing, yellow eyes, unsettling when he winked at Gaara.

Gaara turned back to Temari. “Give me your dance card.”

He received a sharp tap on the wrist from the back of the fan instead. 

“Last time, you and Kankuro filled out my entire dance card between the two of you,” she complained. “You’re going to dance with someone else tonight for a change.”

“Just one?” Gaara pleaded. “And I’ll find Matsuri and see if she’ll give me a dance too.”

“That’s a start,” Temari agreed grudgingly. She produced her dance card from a hidden pocket among the folds of her skirt. “Only one. Choose wisely.”

Gaara scribbled a kanji next to a waltz. 

“Your full name,” Temari snapped. “This makes it look like I’ve got some sort of secret paramour.”

Gaara rolled his eyes behind his mask and added the other characters hastily on either side. It was barely legible as his name. “Everyone would have known it was me.”

“Why?” Temari demanded. “Because my brothers are such social disasters that I’m the only woman they can get a dance with, or because my brothers are the only men who could possibly want to dance with me?”

“You know I have no interest in dancing with women,” Gaara snorted, at the exact same time that Kankuro said:

“You know I can’t dance.”

“That is a bold faced lie,” Temari told Kankuro. She rounded on Gaara. “So ask a man to dance for a change. If we’re lucky it will be the last straw that sets off the heart attack Father deserves.”

“Temari,” Gaara hissed, checking up and down the hall anxiously as Kankuro shot out of his chair as though trying to bodily block Temari’s words from reaching anyone else’s ears.

“I’m not scared of him,” Temari sniffed, snapping her fan open. “Just please try to enjoy yourselves for one evening. That’s all I want.”

The milling crowds below hushed and parted as a figure swept into the ballroom, trailing a full retinue behind him. 

“Now, here’s where it gets interesting,” Kankuro said softly. 

“Shouldn’t he be disguised better?” Gaara whispered. “Isn’t that the entire point of a masquerade?”

“Difficult to disguise King Minato and Queen Kushina, isn’t it?” Temari muttered. She gestured discreetly with her fan towards their brightly coloured hair, the king’s mask split down the centre by a lightning bolt that somehow glowed blue in the soft light of the ballroom. His wife’s mask was shaped like a fox’s face, and matched her son’s. Naruto leaned past his mother, blue eyes glittering visibly even at this distance and waved cheekily to Gaara. Gaara tilted his head in acknowledgement. 

“Who are the rest of them?” Gaara asked, as Minato’s group began dispersing into the crowd. His father had swept into the room to embrace Minato and lead him towards the refreshment table.

“Let’s go find out,” Temari suggested.

* * * * *

“Have fun,” Neji said sternly, reaching for the handle of the carriage door. “But remember what you’re here for, and do your best to blend in. Half of this crowd is probably hired guards and I don’t want anyone to be able to guess that you’re among them.”

“Right!” Lee agreed, bouncing out of his seat and giving his friend a thumbs up as he leapt through the door.

“That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about,” Neji hissed, hurrying down after him and covering Lee’s thumb with his hand. “These people are the most proper, stuffy, old money crowd imaginable. Some of them are actual royalty. Tone it down.”

“I’ll watch him,” Tenten assured him.

“Good.” Neji reached up to help Tenten out of the carriage as she struggled with her petticoats. “And keep your ears open. It’s probably better that we not stick to Prince Naruto too closely, but we need to keep tabs on where he is, and gather intel in the meantime.”

“What exactly is the nature of the threat?” Lee asked, pulling a small, battered notebook out of an inside pocket of his frock coat.

“We don’t know,” Neji told him. “We don’t even know that it’s aimed at Naruto. There have just been mutterings that something is afoot tonight and given the recent tension between Minato and Rasa, we felt it best to be on our guard.”

“We will not let you down!” Lee whisper-shouted. 

“See that you don’t.” Neji checked his pocket watch. “My cousins’ carriage should be arriving. I’m expected to act as a chaperone. I’ll wait here for them, you two can head inside.”

Lee offered Tenten his elbow and together they made their way up the broad gravel walkway to the palace doors. Light, music and the chatter of conversation spilled across the threshold to greet them as they stepped into the bustle of bodies clad in sleek velvet and frothy lace. 

“I am afraid that I am out of my depth here.”

“So am I,” Tenten agreed, she picked at the wide silk skirt of her gown. “How am I supposed to fight in this?”

“I cannot even raise my arms all the way,” Lee agreed, gesturing at his coat. 

“You do clean up nicely though,” Tenten assured him.

“So do you!” Lee gestured around the ballroom. “Snacks first, or shall we dance?”

“Let’s pretend to socialize,” Tenten suggested. “We can get the lay of the ballroom and take stock of who’s here.”

“I cannot tell who any of these people are!” Lee admitted.

“Hmm,” Tenten looked around, and then pointed Lee in the direction of the refreshment table. “That man in the jeweled mask, fawning all over King Minato, that must be King Rasa, our host for the evening.”

“He has children, right?” Lee asked. 

“Yes, and they’ll be here somewhere,” Tenten said. “Problem is, I’ve never seen any of them before. Only the portraits Neji showed us.”

“I would not worry about it.” Lee shrugged. “We are here for Naruto, after all.”

Tenten nodded once. “Let’s start by locating him.”

* * * * *

"I hate this," Gaara grumbled, his feet moving through the steps of the waltz as stiff and automatic as a machine. "It's pointless and Father is just trying to impress people he doesn’t even like."

Temari rolled her eyes and squeezed his shoulder. "Remember what I said about trying to have fun."

Gaara raised one non-existent eyebrow behind the delicate scrollwork of his mask. "I could always try to drown myself in champagne. Kankuro says that's the only way to have fun at these things."

Temari glared at him, though she looked much less severe than usual in her red silk ball gown, hair done up in a pile of smooth golden curls. "Don't even think about it. Everyone is watching us."

"Thanks for the reminder," Gaara muttered. They twirled and his eyes caught on a flicker of movement. The hem of a green velvet frock coat fluttering as the man who wore it spun his partner also.

He was tall, broad shouldered, his hair loose and soft looking rather than caked with pomade like every other man in the ballroom. He flashed a grin at his partner that was all teeth. Gaara didn't see the girl smile back at him as they spun again, because the man's eyes met his, burning with intensity even behind the mask that hid the upper portion of his face.

If the music was still playing, Gaara could no longer hear it. The dancers blurred around him, his own feet stilled as though he'd been turned to stone where he stood. For a moment, he and the man existed outside of time, staring at each other, spellbound. The dazzling grin dropped away as the man's mouth fell open in an expression of surprise. Then Temari was tugging on his arm and the dance resumed, the music twice as loud now than it had seemed before, and he was whisked away before he could catch a glimpse of him again.

"Temari," he whispered. "Who was that man?"

"Hmm? The man in green?" She seemed entirely uninterested. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before.”

Lee stumbled over his steps once again, accidentally treading on Tenten's foot.

"Lee!" She scolded. "What has gotten into you?"

"I am sorry!" Lee squeaked. He blinked several times but it was no use. Tenten's lovely rose coloured dress, the rich hues of the decorations, even Gai's shockingly emerald green trousers, all of it had faded out to dull grey. The only colour he saw was red; red hair, red jewels on his mask, a red velvet cape. He turned his head, searching again for that spot of red in the crowd.

"Tenten, who is that man?"

"The man in red? Is that who you were gawking at just now?" Tenten demanded.

Lee nodded slowly, stumbled over his own feet again. Tenten retreated a safe distance before he could scuff her shoes up any further. 

“How should I know, Lee?” she asked impatiently. “This is a masquerade. I can’t tell one man from the next.”

“I just. . . have this feeling. . .”

He blinked a few more times, waiting for the colours of the ballroom to return as that distinctive red hair was lost in the crowd again.

Tenten grabbed his hand and dragged him back into the dance, leading this time so that Lee couldn’t stumble all over her.

“We’re here for a reason, Lee,” she reminded him softly. “If you have a feeling about him, it might be worth looking into. Just be careful.”

* * * * *

He was dancing the galopade with Matsuri when he saw the woman again, the one who had been dancing with that man. She swept by him on the arm of a man who, even with his elaborate lavender mask, was recognizable by his long, dark hair as Neji Hyuga. Her eyes lingered on Gaara just a moment too long, narrowed behind her mask, appraising.

“Do you know who she is?” Gaara whispered to Matsuri. 

She glanced at the other pair over Gaara’s shoulder. “I’ve never seen her before. I can tell you she’s got a knife in her corset though, and something strapped to her leg that disrupts the fall of her skirt just slightly. She’s hiding it well. Whether she’s a bodyguard or an assassin, she’s well trained.”

“So which is it? Bodyguard or assassin?”

Matsuri gave her a second glance. “She seems quite comfortable with Mr. Hyuga. Could be she works with him.”

“That doesn’t answer the question at all,” Gaara pointed out. 

“Best I can do,” Matsuri replied, giving him a jaunty smile to match the capering pace of this ridiculous dance.

They twirled and Gaara caught sight of a green frock coat heading out the open french doors into the garden. He stopped short.

“Excuse me,” he said to Matsuri, with no more than a cursory bow, not taking his eyes off the doors. He was only vaguely aware that she rolled her eyes and swept away towards the refreshment tables as he walked towards the door, taking care not to appear hurried. 

The gardens had been carefully manicured for the occasion and the flagstone paths had been lined with rows of glass lanterns that housed flickering candles. Even with the golden light spilling through the windows of the palace, his quarry was visible only as a shadow flitting past the lanterns down the path. Gaara followed on silent feet.

The man in green finally came to a halt on the stone patio beneath the cherry trees, fallen petals muffling his footsteps. He stood beneath the flowering trees, staring down at the surface of the pond where the koi fish flitted around candles floating in tiny boats. 

Gaara crossed the patio, unsure what he wanted to say, but the man startled as soon as Gaara appeared at his elbow.

“I am sorry!” the man cried, bowing. “I did not mean to be in your way!”

“You can hardly be in my way if I’m following you,” Gaara replied. “Perhaps I’m the one who should apologize.”

“You followed me?”

Gaara decided that he liked the man’s voice. It was loud and full and seemed to come from somewhere deep within his chest. He articulated each word carefully but they were still tinged with an accent that Gaara couldn’t quite place. He suspected the man was making an effort to hide it.

“I noticed you,” Gaara told him. “Earlier, in the ballroom.”

“During the waltz?” The man asked breathlessly.

Gaara nodded. 

“So it was not just me then.”

“Yes, I -” Gaara hadn’t thought this far ahead. Hadn’t considered how to explain the feeling that had compelled him to follow this stranger into the garden. The opening strains of a slow waltz drifted out from the ballroom.

The man in green turned to Gaara and bowed. “Would you like to dance?”

“I’m a terrible dancer,” Gaara whispered, even as he took the man’s hand.

“So am I,” he said. “But I would like to dance with you all the same.”

Gaara stepped in close and the man’s hand settled lightly on his shoulder. He placed his own hand just below the man’s shoulder blade, and they began to slowly move through the first steps of the waltz.

Despite being an unpracticed dancer, the man in green was light on his feet, his body athletic and powerful beneath the velvet finery that he seemed so uncomfortable in. Gaara looked up and found him grinning, but it was a genuine, joyful smile, so unlike the smiles Gaara was used to seeing. The black and green mask was simpler than Gaara’s own, and cut away beneath the left eye. He wore no paint beneath it and his visible eye was as round and dark as a doe’s, with long black eyelashes. 

The music gradually picked up its pace and they began spinning faster across the flagstones of the patio. Gaara’s hand trailed down from the man’s shoulder blade to the centre of his back to steady them both, hold them closer together. It was a scandalous thing to do, he knew that, but the man only smiled wider and laughed as Gaara let go of him for a moment to spin him around, bending at the knees to duck under Gaara’s arm. 

They seemed to spin faster and faster as the music crescendoed, soft pink petals swirling in the air around them, candle light rippling across the water. With every spin they drew closer together until the man’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders and Gaara’s hand pressed against the small of his back, their chests brushing with every step, eyes locked on each other. 

Gaara grew lightheaded. He knew he was moving but it seemed like he and his strange masked dance partner were standing perfectly still and the garden was spinning wildly around them instead, music blurring into a dull roar of noise. Gaara stumbled on the end of his cape and the man let go of his hand to catch him and hold him steady by his waist.

Gaara looked up and his thanks died on his tongue. They were standing very close together, their arms around each other, the man’s masked face only a breath away from his own. He wasn’t smiling any longer, or rather, he was no longer grinning outright though the bow of his lips still gave the impression of a smile. His lips were unpainted, as soft as the petals that had settled on the shoulders of his frock coat and in his shiny black hair. Gaara leaned in, the man pulled him closer. Gaara parted his lips, let his eyes fall shut, and he felt the man’s thumb brush his cheek as he gently pushed the bottom of Gaara’s mask upwards so that the skull’s teeth no longer covered his top lip. Gaara was almost afraid to breathe lest he shatter the illusion. He waited.

“No!”

Gaara didn’t have time to register the sudden change in atmosphere before a hand on the back of his head was tucking his face into the masked man’s chest and they were turning. Something struck the man hard across the shoulder and they were both thrown to the ground. He twisted in the air so that his body would cushion Gaara’s fall, then rolled to the side and sprang to his feet. 

Gaara disentangled himself from his cape and stood, drawing a thin dagger from his boot as he went. The man in green was fighting a second man dressed all in black and a feathered mask in the shape of an owl’s face. He was armed with a dagger of his own, and the man in green dodged his strikes with the same light steps he had used to dance with Gaara. A well timed boot to a kneecap, a fist to the sternum, a spin, an arm bent at an inhuman angle. It seemed that the man in green would make short work of the attacker. But the fabric of his jacket had darkened all down the sleeve of the arm he had used to shield Gaara and turn him away from that first attack. Blood dripped from his cuff onto the flagstones.

The man in the owl mask twisted within his grasp and dug his fingernails into the dark tear in the sleeve of his coat, his fingers twisting in the wound. The man in green cried out in shock and their attacker tore himself loose and charged at Gaara. The man in green lunged after him, grabbing him by the tails of his coat and throwing him out of step just enough for Gaara to bring his dagger up in one swift motion and pierce his attacker’s throat. He fell dead on the patio between Gaara and the man in green. 

Gaara fell to his knees beside the corpse, gasping for breath, adrenaline and shock making his limbs feel numb and disconnected from his body. His delicate mask had been cracked down the centre and the raw edge scraped at his face. He tore it off and flung it aside. 

“Now then,” he whispered to the dead assassin. “Let’s see who you are.”

He pulled off the owl mask and his hand shook so badly that he crushed the feathers between his fingers.

“This is one of my father’s guards.” Gaara sat and stared at the unseeing eyes of the face in front of him, a face he had seen every day for years, hovering at his father’s right hand. He turned his head away and his eyes settled instead on drops of blood splattered across the flagstones.

“You’re hurt!” Gaara turned to look up at the man in green but there was no one there. The garden was empty except for Gaara, and the corpse of his would be assassin, and the slow drift of petals falling like snow.

* * * * *

Lee hurried through the hallways of the palace as quickly as he could manage without attracting attention, his wounded arm turned away from anyone else he passed. With any luck, it would look like he was on some urgent business for his lord; such things were bound to happen at a party like this with so many important people. His blood roared in his ears, his stomach turned. He caught a glimpse of Tenten in a doorway and flashed a quick hand sign to let her know where he was going. 

Once he was outside, he quickened his pace, hurrying towards Neji’s carriage. He climbed inside, slammed the door after him and slumped on the floorboards, shaking. There was a smattering of blood on the knuckles of his fine white gloves. He peeled them off and flung them down on the floor. His mask had suddenly become an unbearable weight across his face, pressing down on the bridge of his nose, making it hard to breathe. He tore that off as well, and then carefully removed the heavy frock coat and under layers. He pulled the wooden box that housed the med kit out from under the seat and twisted his head around to examine the cut that ran from his shoulder down the back of his arm almost to his elbow. It was long but shallow, his jacket had taken the worst of it. He could bind it himself easily enough. 

Once his arm was wrapped tightly in bandages, he lay back on the satin cushions of the carriage seat, draped his good arm over his face and tried to focus on breathing slowly.

Lee was no stranger to death, had long since lost count of his fights. He was hired muscle after all, the best of the best highly trained bodyguards that gold could buy. It wasn’t the fight that had rattled him, or that he had just watched his dance partner kill a man.

It was the face that had been revealed when the black whorls of the skull mask had fallen away. Fiery red hair, green eyes painted with kohl, diamonds in his ears. Lee felt stupid for not having realized it sooner. How could a few swirls of black lacquer have tricked him so completely? Then again, Tenten had been none the wiser either. 

But, it had been Lee, not Tenten, who had danced with him in the garden. It had been Lee who had been so overcome with his feelings during that dance that he had almost been so bold as to kiss him. 

Prince Gaara, King Rasa’s youngest son. A powerful man in his own right. A friend of Naruto’s, and a known troublemaker whose politics had put him at odds with his father for years. His portrait had even been in the portfolio of people to watch out for that Neji had given them to study on their way to Suna. 

And yet, as Lee lay there on the cushions of the carriage, cursing himself for a fool, he couldn’t help but think of Gaara kneeling there beside the corpse, a stricken expression on his face, whispering, “This is one of my father’s guards.”

Lee desperately wished he could have stayed, offered some comfort or reassurance. Guilt gnawed at the inside of his stomach for having left Gaara like that to face his own betrayal. Yet if King Rasa had in fact sent an assassin after his own son, as it appeared, the scandal would be unprecedented and Neji would have wrung Lee’s neck for getting caught in the middle of it. Or so he tried to tell himself anyway. It rang hollow. 

If he was honest with himself, he had run because there was no part of him that was worthy to be looked at the way Gaara had done as they danced together, nothing about him without the mask that could possibly have appealed to Gaara enough for him lean in the way he had done, with his eyes closed and his face tilted upwards. He didn’t want to think about how Gaara would feel if he ever realized that he’d been deceived by a mask and a fine coat, and his dance partner had been little more than a commoner. Lee had shamed himself and overstepped in the most egregious manner possible. It would be best for him to just forget the whole thing.

* * * * *

Gaara sat glowering beside the fire in his sister’s private parlour, swathed in blankets as though he’d been caught out in the rain rather than nearly stabbed.

“I’m fine,” he insisted for the hundredth time, as Kankuro tried to stick a thermometer in his mouth.

“You’re not fine,” his brother protested. “What kind of lunatic would be fine after something like that?”

“Gaara, you need to take this more seriously,” Temari added, snapping her fan open and shut in agitation. “If Seishi tried to kill you, it’s because Father has finally decided that he wants you dead. He _will_ try again, he’ll send someone else and we have to be ready.”

“I’ll be ready,” Gaara snapped. “But I don’t have time for this now. I have to find him.”

“Find who?” Kankuro asked. 

“The man who saved my life.”


	2. To the Beat of the Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Warning:** This chapter contains mentions of implied past domestic violence, implied past murder, and a character is stalked with malicious intent

“How could you not know who he is?” Gaara demanded impatiently. “He must have been part of your group.”

Naruto waved one hand dismissively. “It’s a huge group! How am I supposed to know who’s there and who’s not?”

“But surely you must have _seen_ him,” Gaara insisted, sliding across the divan to stare his friend directly in the eyes. “Think!”

“Okay, okay,” Naruto grumbled. “Let’s see. I came in with Mom, and then your dad showed up so I took off with Shikamaru. At least, I think it was Shikamaru. His mask had big antlers on it and he kept complaining, so I kind of figured.”

Gaara dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t need a play by play of your entire evening. I just need to know about that man.”

“What’d he look like again?” Naruto’s face was contorted as though trying to think was costing him a great effort.

“Tall, black hair, dark eyes, a green frock coat, and a black and green mask,” Gaara recited for what was at least the fifth time that afternoon. “Didn’t seem like an accomplished dancer, but quite athletic. Definitely an experienced fighter.”

Naruto was smirking at him.

“What?” Gaara demanded.

“Is this a description of a real man, or are you just giving me your wishlist and hoping I’ll turn something up?”

Standing guard by the door, Baki stifled a cough. Gaara ignored him in favour of glaring at Naruto until he went pale and shrank back into the cushions.

“This is serious, Naruto,” he hissed. “That man saved my life.”

“Yeah, I suppose I owe him thanks for that too,” Naruto mused, sitting up again and patting Gaara’s arm absentmindedly as though to remind himself that his friend was still here, still breathing.

“Think!” Gaara insisted again.

“Gaara,” Naruto complained. “I’ve been ‘thinking’ all afternoon. Tall, dark and handsome could be just about anybody, other than me or you, basically. As for a green coat, I must have seen at least three of them on the way in.”

“Yes, good,” Gaara encouraged. “And who was wearing those green coats?”

Naruto looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “We were all wearing masks, Gaara. Nobody could tell who was who.”

Gaara flopped across the cushions and sighed. “This is hopeless.”

“I’m sorry,” Naruto said, and he at least did have the good graces to look properly sympathetic. “I’ll keep an eye out for you, but you might just have to let it go.”

Gaara gave him a look that told him exactly what he thought of that idea.

“Listen, Gaara, we haven’t got a lot of time and I have a lot to fill you in on,” Naruto reminded him. 

“Right,” Gaara agreed. “You said you’ve got some information about a few of my father’s associates?”

Naruto checked over his shoulder as though worried he would find someone there other than Baki and his own guard, and lowered his voice before he began. “Yes, and I may be able to help you block his efforts to impose further restrictions. But things are already tense between him and my father so you didn’t get this information from me, and I know nothing about your plans, okay? We don’t want to accidentally start a war here.”

* * * * *

“Look at him,” Kankuro insisted, nudging Temari who was pretending to nap. “He’s sulking.”

“I’m not sulking,” Gaara retorted. “You’re the one who’s sulking.”

“I just think it’s stupid that we have to be awake this early for a ‘ceremony’ that was just Father blowing hot air, as usual,” Kankuro grumbled. “You’re the one who’s been traipsing all over town looking for his long lost true love, like some kind of-”

Kankuro yelped loudly as the carriage hit a bump and Gaara took the opportunity to kick him in the shin.

Temari opened one eye to glare at them both. “Stop antagonizing your brother.”

“I’m just frustrated,” Gaara grumbled. “It’s been a week and I’ve just been chasing down one dead end after another.”

“Maybe he left town,” Kankuro suggested. He stifled a yawn in the cuff of his sleeve. “Maybe you scared him off entirely.”

“Gaara,” Temari began tentatively. “Did you ever think maybe. . .”

She turned to look out the window, chewing her painted lower lip, her hands fidgeting with her fan in her lap, snapping it open and shut, open and shut.

“Yes?” Gaara asked.

“Did you ever think,” she said again, very quietly. “That it’s odd that this strange man happened to be there when you were attacked, and then he disappeared into thin air once you’d killed the assassin?”

“Odd in which sense?” Gaara asked, raising one pale eyebrow. “If you’re suggesting something paranormal was afoot, and he was some kind of guardian spirit, then no, I don’t think that.”

The edge of the fan rapped against the back of his wrist, two quick, annoyed taps.

“If you’re suggesting that he was party to it,” Gaara went on. “Then yes, I have considered that, and I don’t believe it.”

“But how can you know?” Temari demanded.

“He just wasn’t like that,” Gaara insisted. 

“If you tell us the story one more time, I’m gonna hurl,” Kankuro muttered. Gaara kicked him again. 

“You need to be careful Gaara,” Temari said softly. “We know Father wants you dead, and you two are all I’ve got. I can’t let it happen again.”

“It’s not like there’s anything you could have done for Mother,” Kankuro muttered.

“Justice,” Temari replied. “I could have made sure he paid for what he did.”

“We could never prove anything,” Gaara reminded her.

Temari shook her head and repeated, “I won’t let it happen again. You need to be careful of this man.”

“He saved my life,” Gaara insisted.

“Then be careful for his sake,” Temari whispered. “Because he made an enemy of King Rasa when he did. Maybe it’s better that he’s never found.”

The carriage rounded a corner and began rolling down a quiet street lined with tidy, well cared for gardens. Gaara’s eyes fell on a stately villa, usually empty as it belonged to Lord Hyuga and was only used when a member of his family visited Suna. Smoke was rising from the chimney. Gaara shot to his feet without thinking and bashed his head against the roof of the carriage. The driver pulled up short.

“Gaara? What’s wrong?” Temari asked.

“I’ve forgotten an important detail,” Gaara breathed. “How could I be so stupid?”

He was out the carriage door and hurrying up the walkway to the house before his siblings could protest. They both had the good sense to wait in the carriage. Baki moved to jump down from his seat beside the driver, but Gaara waved him back. This would go better without a guard.

He pulled the cord by the door and a bell chimed somewhere within the house. There was silence for a moment, then a flurry of movement.

“Yes, yes, nevermind, I’ll get it,” a brusque voice said from inside. 

Moments later, the door was flung open to reveal Neji Hyuga, standing in the entrance way in his dressing gown and slippers. His mouth fell open at the sight of Gaara standing unaccompanied on his doorstep.

He bowed hastily but Gaara didn’t miss the way he surreptitiously tried to ease the door partially closed again.

“Prince Gaara? To what do I owe this honour?” Neji asked warily.

“Just call me Gaara,” he said softly. “I’ve come to ask you some questions.”

“Of course,” Neji replied smoothly. “I’m happy to assist you in whatever way I can.”

“Then, may I come in?”

Neji’s hesitation was so brief that anyone else may have missed it, just as they may have missed the strain beneath his smile. “Of course, the parlour is this way. Please make yourself comfortable.”

Gaara settled himself on the edge of a tufted ottoman, legs crossed, eyes pinning Neji in place. 

“I am here to ask you about the identity of a certain man.”

Neji nodded mutely. 

“You were observed,” Gaara began. “Dancing at the ball with a certain woman in a pink dress. She had her hair done up in two coils. Do you know her?”

“Who can say who is who at a masquerade ball?” Neji hedged.

“You seemed to know her quite well,” Gaara informed him. “In any case, it’s not the woman I’m interested in. It’s her previous dancing partner.”

Neji had just opened his mouth to reply when the parlour door swung open and a man walked through backwards, carrying a tea tray in his hands.

“Did I hear the doorbell ring?” he called out. “Did Neji lock himself out again?”

“No, I did not.” Neji whispered, colour draining from his already pale face. 

The man turned and his eyes slid past Neji to land on Gaara. The tea tray slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor. Shards of broken china scattered around his bare feet. The sugar bowl rolled away under the chest of drawers, scattering its contents behind it, and a dark pool of coffee seeped into the rich carpet. Neji squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s you,” Gaara breathed, rising slowly to his feet.

There was no mistaking him. Even without the velvet finery and the mask, Gaara would have known him by his height, by the breadth of his shoulders and the way he stood, by the silken shine of his black hair, his wide, dark eyes, mouth like a steppe warrior’s bow. Gaara stared for a long moment, taking in all the details he’d missed before. The shape of his muscles beneath his loose fitting linen shirt, a scar at the base of his neck, and most notably, a pair of thick, bold eyebrows.

He didn’t move at first, he stood staring back at Gaara with an expression that seemed to be wavering somewhere between joy and fear. Then he stepped carefully across the wreckage on the carpet to kneel at Gaara’s feet and press his forehead against the floor.

“Prince Gaara,” he said, voice unsteady. “I must offer you my most sincere apologies and humbly beg your forgiveness.”

Gaara could only stare down at him. He was here, he was real. Gaara sank to his knees across from him. “Why?”

“For leaving you during your moment of need,” he replied, without looking up.

Gaara shook his head slowly and reached out to touch the man’s shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was warm and soft, he could feel the cushioning of a gauze bandage beneath it. Gaara drew his fingers away again reluctantly and the man glanced up.

“You saved my life,” Gaara told him, he gently brushed the bandaged arm with his fingers again. “I have spent the whole week trying to find you.”

“Please forgive me,” he said again. “I did not wish to leave you like that.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Gaara said softly. He placed two fingers beneath the man’s chin to tilt his head up and draw him back up to sitting. “I’d like to know your name.”

“Rock Lee,” he whispered.

“Rock Lee,” Gaara repeated, savouring the way it felt on his tongue. “Rock Lee.”

He stroked his thumb along Lee’s cheek. Tears welled in Lee’s eyes and he grabbed Gaara’s hand in both of his and held it tightly.

“I’m curious though,” Gaara said. “Why did you leave?”

“I -” Lee choked and the tears slipped free of his eyelashes.

“He had to,” Neji cut in. Gaara had quite forgotten that he was still standing there. “Lee works with me, and owes his allegiance to the family of King Minato. He knew the political ramifications of being involved in such a scandal.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Gaara murmured.

Lee nodded, looking thoroughly miserable.

“I’m glad I’ve found you, though,” Gaara whispered, stroking the back of Lee’s scarred hand. 

“Why did you look for me?” Lee asked softly.

“I wanted to thank you,” Gaara replied. “And I wanted to see you again.”

“Really?” Lee smiled weakly.

“Of course.” Gaara brushed a few tears away from Lee’s cheek. “Not only did you save my life, but dancing with you, I felt. . . I needed to know your name, to know you.”

Lee’s smile grew much steadier. “I am here.”

“Yes, you are,” Gaara couldn’t help but give him a small smile in return. “I was becoming afraid that you had been a dream.”

“Surely you would dream of someone better.” Lee turned his eyes down towards the carpet. 

“No.” Gaara raised his chin again. “I couldn’t possibly.”

They remained still for a long moment, kneeling there on the carpet with their hands clasped between them, staring at each other.

“I left my brother and sister waiting in the carriage,” Gaara remembered suddenly.

“Do you have to go?” Lee chewed his lip.

“Yes,” Gaara said reluctantly. “May I call on you again?”

“Please,” Lee breathed, his grip on Gaara’s hand tightening slightly. “I would like to see you again too.”

He stood and helped Gaara to his feet as well. Gaara didn’t let go of Lee’s hand as he walked to the parlour door.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised.

Lee smiled and bowed. He pressed his lips lightly against the back of Gaara’s hand in a barely there kiss and then released him. Gaara considered making Temari and Kankuro wait a few minutes longer, but instead he turned and walked towards the door, glancing back for one last look at Lee before stepping outside.

Lee sighed and wandered through the parlour to peer through a gap in the lace curtains. Leaning on the window sill, he watched Gaara climb back into the carriage and drive away. 

He turned to beam at Neji, but his friend shook his head grimly and sighed. “I was afraid of this.”

“Neji? What’s wrong?”

“You had best be careful, Lee. There are some forms of trouble that even I cannot get you out of.”

* * * * *

Lee wandered through the main market square of Suna with a basket over his arm and a ridiculous grin on his face. Tenten had sent him out to pick up a few household items when his lovestruck expression and constant sighing had begun to irritate her. He had picked up Neji’s hair oil and Tenten’s new whetstone already. Just a few more items remained until he could buy the heaviest, flour and gunpowder, and be on his way home again. 

He stopped by a florist’s stall and admired displays of roses and carnations, small posies of violets and pansies. Flowers were classic, timeless, one of the cornerstones of romance, if Ino was to be believed. Lee didn’t know if he would have another chance to visit the palace before they returned to Konoha or when Gaara would be able to call at Neji’s house again. Flowers were far too short lived. Instead, he picked up the usual bouquet that Hinata liked to use as the centrepiece for the dining room table, and continued on his way.

A glittering storefront caught his eye, but he passed it by without even stepping inside. An elite bodyguard’s salary was enough to live on comfortably, but the diamonds in Gaara’s ears alone were worth more than almost all of Lee’s possessions combined. Buying jewelry for a prince felt foolish. 

He passed the confectioner, the milliner and the tailor, the bladesmith. None of it was right. What gift could he possibly give the prince that he didn’t already have? What gift could he choose for Gaara that would tell him. . . Tell him what, exactly? Gaara was a member of the royal family of Suna, second in line to the throne after his brother, and Lee had escaped poverty only through the help of friends and his own hard work. Perhaps it made sense for Lee to feel this way about Gaara, but certainly not for his feelings to be returned.

He thought about Gaara kneeling with him on the carpet in Neji’s parlour, stroking the back of his hand and looking at him like he had just found a treasure beyond even his own princely dreams. Gaara could have no illusions any more about what Lee was. It was no secret that service to the royal family was how Konoha had addressed its orphan problem after the war. While Neji himself came from a prestigious family and was the nephew of a lord, he was looked down on by his peers for choosing to cast in his lot with people like Lee, and it was common knowledge that anyone who worked under Neji Hyuga had come from nothing and been plucked from the gutters to be trained as assassins, guards and spies. It was only their skill, their undeniable usefulness, that made them tolerable to the nobility. 

Gaara had to know that, and yet he had looked at Lee that way anyway, allowed Lee to dance with him in the garden, to kiss his hand. He had spent the whole week searching for him, had asked to see him again. Lee had to believe it meant something, and if it did, he needed Gaara to know that it meant something to him too, even if he didn’t quite know how to explain this feeling. 

He checked the next item on his list - laundry soap - and walked across the street to the dry goods store. It was as he was searching the aisles for the scent Hanabi preferred that he felt it. Eyes on the back of his neck, evil intent. They followed him as he wandered through the store. He remained calm, pretending to pick up items and inspect them, then return them to their shelves. He forced thoughts of Gaara to the back of his mind and assessed the situation. Neji and Tenten had always been better at this part than he was, but he waited and observed. There was only one person following him, perhaps a pickpocket. They followed him to the front of the shop where he paid for the soap.

They followed him outside and tailed him as he continued down the street. He was standing outside the vintner’s shop, trying to decide if wine was an appropriate gift and if he could afford anything fine enough anyway, when one set of eyes became three. Lee’s skin began to crawl. These were no pickpockets.

Lee passed the cobbler at a slow stroll, pretending again to stop and look at a fine pair of boots in the window. Two more hunters joined the ones on his tail. They began to fan out, clearly intent on surrounding him. He hadn’t managed to get a proper look at any of them yet, but he was beginning to worry that they weren’t waiting for him to make a mistake and turn down a dead end alley. 

Lee watched for a reflection in the glass window and caught just the brim of a black hat, the gleam of a rifle barrel. He turned on his heel and began walking back towards the Hyuga villa. Gaara’s gift and everything else on the list would have to wait. 

The hunters followed closely at his heels. Lee picked up the pace.

* * * * *

Gaara lay on the cover of his bed, staring at the canopy above him and the lengthening shadows of evening creeping across the walls. The day had passed in a blur of noise and movement. He scarcely remembered now where he had gone or who he had talked to after leaving the Hyuga house.

He held his one hand carefully within the other, cradling it as though it had been transformed into something precious. He remembered dark eyes and thick brows, the way tears had gathered at the edges of his lashes, the way he had looked at Gaara. He closed his own eyes to remember more clearly. No one had ever looked at him that way before, as though he was meant to be treasured and protected, as though he were worth something just as he was. Gaara was a prince; he was used to being fawned over and flattered, guarded and watched. But people usually looked at him with some mixture of respect, fear and adoration. Occasionally even lust or greed. But the way Lee had looked at him had been entirely different. 

Gaara felt like Lee had seen through his title and his reputation, right to the heart of him where he was his true self, and had found something of value there. Or at least, he desperately hoped so.

Gaara could count a hundred things already that he liked about Lee, but there was something beyond the sum of all those things that drew him in. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what this feeling was that sent warmth swirling through his body, made his very bones seem to grow so light that he almost thought he could drift away, but he knew that he wanted more of it. He wanted to be close to Lee, know everything there was to know about him. Every eyelash, every scar, that one slightly chipped tooth on the left side of his smile, Gaara would treasure all of them.

The door banged open and he sat up in bed as his brother strode into the room. His face was pale beneath his paint and there was rage in the set of his mouth. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

“I’ve just overheard Father talking with some of his men,” he began, voice unsteady. “Gaara, I’m so sorry.”

* * * * *

“Can’t we just start without Lee?” Shikamaru demanded irritably. “He’ll get here when he gets here.”

“He was supposed to be back hours ago,” Tenten snapped, her nose nearly pressed against the parlour window, waiting for her friend to appear through the sheets of rain that dashed against the glass.

“It’s not like him to be even a few minutes late,” Neji agreed.

Lightning split the sky and porcelain teacups rattled nervously in their saucers. 

“We can get him caught up on everything once he gets here,” Sakura said. “It’s fine.”

“That’s not the point!” Tenten turned away from the window. “Neji, I should go look for him.”

Neji hesitated, staring at the coffee stain on the carpet as though he could divine Lee’s fate in its shape. “Perhaps we both should. I have a bad feeling.”

“What’s the big deal?” Naruto demanded. “I’ve stayed out all night before and you guys have never worried.”

“That’s because I always go with you,” his guard reminded him pointedly, flicking the back of his head.

“Oh, yeah, I suppose, but it’s not like anything bad could have happened to him,” Naruto protested. “This is Lee we’re talking about.”

“Yes,” Neji agreed. “This is Lee we’re talking about. Come on, Tenten. We had better go.”

The door crashed loudly against the wall and footsteps hurried across the entrance hall.

“See, there he is,” Naruto said cheerfully.

“No,” Tenten cocked her head to one side and loosened her sword in its scabbard. “That’s not him.”

The parlour door flew open. A flare of lightning momentarily blinded them all. As thunder crashed directly overhead, they blinked at the figure standing in the doorframe, water running from his sodden clothes in rivulets and pooling around his feet.

“Prince Gaara?” Neji said uncertainly.

He took a step forward and was brought up short by a piercing green stare that bled black down pale cheeks. 

“Have you heard?” the prince demanded.

“Heard?” Neji repeated slowly. 

Tenten came to stand at his side, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword with forced casualness.

“Lee!” Gaara barked out. He was gasping for breath as though he had run all the way here, as though whatever force had driven him here had stolen all the air from his lungs.

“Lee’s not here,” Tenten said carefully. “He went out earlier on an errand. He hasn’t come back yet.”

Gaara nodded slowly then sank to the floor. “So it’s true.”

“What is?” Neji demanded. He brushed past Tenten’s protective shoulder to crouch beside Gaara in the puddle of rain water on the floor. “Prince Gaara, what has happened?”

“My father’s men have arrested Lee,” Gaara whispered. “They’re saying he was an accomplice in the attempt against my life.”

“That’s preposterous,” Neji hissed.

“I know it is.” One of Gaara’s hands came up to grip the lapel of Neji’s jacket, his fingernails blue from his journey in the chilling rain. “It’s my fault. All my fault. Someone must have followed me here earlier. Someone must have known. . .”

Neji turned to the others assembled in the parlour. “Will someone please fetch the prince a towel and some warm, dry clothing. We’ll figure out what to do about Lee in a minute.”

Gaara’s hand tightened on his lapel, dragging him around to force him to stare into wild green eyes again.

“They mean to hang him at dawn.”


	3. To the Rhythm of a Whisper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Warning:** Implied/referenced abuse, imprisonment, violence and injury

Gaara’s clothes were nearly dry from the heat of the fire in front of him, and the carriage clock on the mantle was ticking towards ten o’clock. There were only a handful of hours left for Lee, and yet his friends were still talking. Thunder rumbled outside, but more distant now. The rain that dashed against the parlour windows had slackened from a furious downpour to a steady patter.

“Prince Gaara?”

He turned away from the clock to find Tenten standing at his elbow, her brow creased in concern. 

“I’ll die before I let anything happen to Lee,” she said softly. “But he’ll never let me hear the end of it if you catch your death because we let you stand around in wet clothes.”

“Why are you all just sitting around talking?” Gaara hissed. “We need to get him out of there.”

“We can’t all just saunter into the King’s dungeons whenever we please,” Tenten reminded him. “If we’re going to have any chance of helping him at all, we have to have a plan. And a damn good one at that.”

“Right,” Gaara muttered. “Sorry.”

A bell rang in the hallway. A single quick chime. The whispered conversation taking place in the centre of the room cut off abruptly. Tenten’s hand sprang to her sword hilt.

“Were you expecting anyone else tonight, Neji?” she asked.

Neji shook his head.

“Right then.”

Tenten stepped out into the entrance hall on silent feet. Gaara followed after her, his heart in his throat. She drew her sword so that it didn’t make so much as a sound against the sheath and turned to make a shooing gesture at him.

 _Get back,_ she mouthed.

Gaara slunk back into the parlour doorway so that he could see the entrance hall but wouldn’t be visible to anyone standing in the front door. Tenten eased the door open just slightly.

“My brother is here,” Temari’s voice announced from the front step. 

Gaara hurried out of the parlour as Tenten yanked the door the rest of the way open.

“Get in here,” she hissed, grabbing Temari by the sleeve and all but dragging her across the threshold. “What do you think you’re doing standing on the doorstep where anyone can see?”

“We’re all just black blobs in this weather,” Kankuro said, following Temari inside. A third, smaller figure came after him, carrying a waxed canvas satchel which she tossed to Gaara. He opened it to find a clean suit of clothes and his warmest cloak.

“No need to worry.” Matsuri patted Tenten on the arm. “I got them here unnoticed. See for yourself.”

Gaara leaned past Tenten to peer out into the rain where a shabby hansom cab was parked. The scruffy pony between the traces stood with his shoulders hunched against the cold rain.

“We’ve come to help,” Temari announced.

“Help?” Tenten repeated cautiously.

“Well, you’re not just going to leave him there, are you?” 

Tenten took a slow step back. 

“She’s not in league with my Father,” Gaara explained. “If she says they’re here to help, she means it.”

“You trust your siblings? You’re sure?” Tenten whispered. 

Gaara nodded. “With my life.”

“With Lee’s life?”

“Just the same.”

“And what about that one?” Tenten gestured towards Matsuri with the tip of her sword. “You figure someone saw you come here earlier, someone told King Rasa that you had been here to see Lee and that’s why he’s in the fix he is now. You’re sure you can trust her?”

“Matsuri works for me, not Father,” Gaara explained. “She’s been with me since we were children.”

Tenten sheathed her sword and then leaned close to Gaara. “My friend might be killed because you trusted the wrong person, Prince Gaara. Have a care.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Temari snarled.

“Just that perhaps your brother’s judgement of who he can and cannot trust may not be the most reliable, Princess.”

“He trusts this friend of yours,” Temari snapped. “The only evidence I’ve got that your friend wasn’t actually an accomplice in the assassination attempt is Gaara’s word.”

“And the fact that Father is a lying scumbag,” Kankuro added mildly.

“Prince Kankuro, Princess Temari,” Neji greeted them from the parlour doorway. “Once you’re finished establishing who is trustworthy and who isn’t, may I invite you in? Time is of the essence tonight.”

“Very well then,” Temari swept into the parlour with Kankuro at her heels and wedged herself onto the sofa between Naruto and Shikamaru. “Let’s hear it then.”

Shikamaru bristled slightly at her tone but began laying out the plan in a calm, even voice. “We’re sending in Sakura and Tenten. Between the two of them, they should be able to get in, get Lee and get out without a problem.”

He pulled a hand drawn map of the palace’s defenses out of the pile of papers on the coffee table and laid it flat so they could all see it. “Shino and Kiba are going to be stationed here and here as lookouts. They’ll alert the ladies if they see anything amiss, and they’ll be prepared to step in if things go sideways.”

The two young men leaning over the back of Hinata’s armchair both nodded their understanding of their roles. 

“From Kiba’s vantage point he’ll be able to see Choji, who will be disguised as a farmer leaving the market for the night,” Shikamaru went on. “He’ll be driving a vegetable cart which we’ll use to hide Lee until they reach safety. Kiba will be able to signal Choji when the three of you are on your way, or to advise him to flee if things go badly.”

“You seem to have a lot of confidence in this plan,” Temari muttered. 

Shikamaru only scowled at her before continuing. “I’ll be stationed here outside the wall where I can keep eyes on Shino. If you’re forced to scatter on foot, Shino will alert me and I’ve got runners out there who can alert our boltholes within the city or be prepared to distract guards or armed patrols where necessary.”

“Do you anticipate having to scatter?” Temari asked.

“Give it a rest, Temari,” Kankuro grumbled. “It’s a better plan than what we came up with on our way here.”

“I’m planning for the worst case scenarios,” Shikamaru pointed out. “I don’t expect we’ll need these precautions, knowing Sakura and Tenten, but I don’t want to leave them high and dry if things take a turn. We don’t know what condition to expect to find Lee in, and need to be prepared for the worst.”

“I caught a glimpse of him as they brought him in,” Matsuri piped up. “That was hours ago, but he was conscious and they had him walking on his own.”

“What if he’s no longer able to walk?” Temari demanded.

“I can carry him out,” Sakura assured her. “I know I don’t look like much, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to carry Lee home.”

“So everyone understands what they’ve got to do?” Shikamaru asked.

“I’m going in with them,” Gaara announced, leaving his post by the fire. 

“Gaara, you can’t,” Temari protested, at the exact same moment that Sakura snorted:

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll go instead,” Temari volunteered. “Gaara, if Father catches you trying to free Lee he’ll kill you.”

“He’ll kill me anyway,” Gaara reminded her. “I don’t care.”

“Wait, hold on,” Shikamaru cut in. “This could help us a lot actually.”

“Uh, it will?” Kankuro raised one eyebrow. “He’s got some skill with a sword but he’s not exactly on the same level as Neji’s people.”

“Our biggest obstacles are that we don’t know what shape Lee will be in, and that Sakura and Tenten are going in blind. It’s not like I could find blueprints of the palace dungeons on such short notice,” Shikamaru explained. “So an extra pair of hands is probably a good thing, and we couldn’t hope for anyone better than a man who, according to rumour, knows the inside of that dungeon pretty well.”

“I’ve only been there a time or two,” Gaara muttered, turning to look back into the fire. Matsuri unfolded herself from where she had been crouched beside the coffee table and came to stand beside him, a comforting hand on his elbow.

“Shikamaru, are you crazy?” Sakura hissed. “He can just as easily draw the dungeons for us. Taking him with us will be a huge risk. I mean, look at him. He hasn’t even had the sense to change into dry clothes and he looks like he’s about a second away from completely falling apart. Do you really trust him to hold it together and not blow the whole thing.”

Shikamaru turned to size Gaara up and Gaara returned his stare unblinkingly.

He turned back to Sakura. “Yes.”

Sakura rounded on Gaara. “Don’t you dare fuck this up.”

Then she laughed and jumped out of her armchair. Tenten stood up with her, hand hovering near the hilt of her sword.

“Let’s do this.”

* * * * *

“Stay here,” Sakura ordered him as they crouched among the shrubs at the edge of the courtyard. “Don’t so much as blink until we motion for you to come out.”

Gaara nodded once. He had been friends with Naruto for long enough to know that Sakura had no qualms with bossing royalty around and that arguing with her was pointless. He shivered and gathered his cloak around himself to keep the chill of the continued drizzle at bay. Perhaps standing around Neji’s parlour in wet clothes had been a mistake after all.

Sakura walked straight towards the guard at the door that led down to the cellars, her head held high, as confident as if she belonged there. From this distance, Gaara couldn’t hear what she said to him, but the man laughed and relaxed into a more casual posture. Sakura carried a basket over her arm, bundled up in checkered tea towels, as though she’d been sent from the kitchen with a little bit of comfort for the men standing guard in such miserable weather. She stepped under the narrow lip of the door frame with him and he turned to face her. 

A shape materialized out of the shadows along the wall and slunk up behind him. Tenten’s feet made no sound on the cobblestones, her sword’s hilt had been rubbed with lampblack so it wouldn’t gleam in the light from the palace windows. 

The guard would likely never remember what had happened. He might remember being greeted by a passing servant girl, and hours later he would wake up stiff and sore on the cobbles, his clothing damp from the rain, and a tender spot on the side of his neck where a needle had bit deep into his flesh to send him off into a dreamless sleep.

Sakura beckoned to Gaara and he darted out from under the bushes to join them, drawing the keys Matsuri had given him out of his pocket as he went. He had always thought it unnecessarily risky that she had copied keys to every door in the palace and kept them stashed in the most unlikely places, but tonight he was grateful for it. The three of them slipped through the door and then dropped the bar behind them. 

They slunk from shadow to shadow, through the echoing cavern of the wine cellar, past one of the powder magazines, and down a narrow, winding stone staircase. As they descended deeper, the stones became slick with moisture and the temperature dropped. Gaara shivered within the fur lining of his cloak and tried not to remember the last time he had come down here. 

At the foot of the staircase was a narrow wooden door that opened into the back of the dungeon. It was only ever used by the guards themselves and was often forgotten. Gaara eased it open, cautious of the rusty hinges, and the three of them stepped out into a dark forest of iron bars. 

Gaara touched Tenten’s sleeve and then gestured in the direction of the guard post. She nodded and dissolved into the darkness. He and Sakura remained very still, listening. There was a muffled gasp, a soft thump, silence. Tenten rematerialized before them and nodded again. Sakura took a match book out of her pocket, struck one, and held it above her head. The iron bars wavered and warped in the flickering light. 

Gaara took a moment to get his bearings. They stood now at the back of the dungeon, the guards had been at the front entrance. Rows of cells extended in both directions. He strained his ears. There were rustling sounds of small animals and insects in the corners, the slow steady drip of water on stone, Sakura and Tenten breathing on either side of him. Nothing else. He stepped forward a few paces until the lantern at the guard post came into view. It cast a small circle of sickly yellow light across the feet of the unconscious guard, propped up in his chair as though he had fallen asleep there. 

Sakura retrieved the lantern and brought it back to them. She turned slowly to cast its light in a circle around the dungeon. 

“Where is he?”

Tenten cringed at the way Sakura’s voice echoed off the low stone ceiling. Shikamaru had estimated that they had at least an hour until a patrol came through the dungeon, but they still needed to remain as silent as possible.

Sakura took a few steps along the row of cells and a hoarse voice called out from the end of the row, “Sakura? Is that you?”

“Lee?” Sakura whispered.

Gaara rushed past Sakura, his heart pounding so hard it made him nauseous, and skidded to a halt outside the last cell in the row. 

“Lee,” he breathed.

He lay in a bed of old straw, curled tightly on his side. Gaara could see him shivering even from this distance, his lips were tinged blue and his face was too pale. A crust of dried blood trickled over his cheek and down his neck from beneath his hair. Gaara fumbled with the key ring in his haste to find the right one (the key to unlock the dungeon cells had been the first one Matsuri had made). They clattered from his hands onto the floor and Tenten snatched them up. 

“Gaara?” Lee croaked, blinking and squinting against the lantern light as though it hurt his eyes. “Are you really here?”

“Yes, Lee. Yes, I’m here,” Gaara whispered. Tenten pushed the cell door open, rusted hinges squealing loud enough to wake the dead, and all three of them rushed into Lee’s cell. 

“You don’t look too badly hurt,” Tenten assessed, kneeling by Lee’s side. 

“They said my face had to be recognizable for the. . . for tomorrow,” Lee told her.

“And the rest of you?” Sakura asked. 

“Less important,” Lee groaned, struggling to sit up. Gaara knelt beside him in the filthy straw, tearing the clasp of his cloak open so that he could throw it around Lee’s shoulders. Lee sighed and huddled into the cloak as Gaara took hold of his arm to help him sit up all the way. Beneath his hands, Lee was warm and solid and very much alive. Tears began to gather in Gaara’s eyes.

“Lee, I’m so sorry,” he choked. “This is all my fault.”

“No, please don’t,” Lee whispered. His fingers brushed across Gaara’s cheek. There was blood under his nails. “I let my guard down when I should have expected something like this. Don’t blame yourself.”

“You could have been killed because of my carelessness,” Gaara protested. He squeezed Lee’s arm, hard enough that he could feel his pulse beneath his skin. 

“He still might be if we don’t hurry it up,” Sakura hissed.

“I was more worried about you,” Lee whispered, not taking his eyes off Gaara’s face. “Trapped up here in the palace with a man who sent an assassin after you.”

“I’m okay,” Gaara reassured him. “I should have known he’d go after you. I should have left you alone.”

“No,” Lee said emphatically, then winced and clutched at his side. “No. Even if I could go back and change it. I am glad I met you, I am glad I was there to help you when you were attacked, and I am glad you came to find me even after I left you so shamefully.”

“But-”

“Gaara, I am not afraid to die,” Lee whispered. “When you live like I do, you cannot be. But when they dragged me in here, I thought that I would never see you again and I . . .”

Hot tears splashed down onto the back of Gaara’s hand where it still clutched Lee’s arm.

“There will be time for tearful reunions later,” Tenten snapped. “Lee, pull yourself together. We’ve got to get out of here, _now.”_

“Can you stand?” Sakura asked.

“Of course. You do not need to worry about me.”

He struggled onto his knees and then grabbed one of the iron bars and pulled himself to his feet with Gaara still supporting him by his other arm. He swayed, blinking rapidly, gripping the iron tightly and taking deep breaths.

“I am alright,” he reassured them. He took one slow step forward and winced as his weight transferred to his left foot. Gaara ducked under his arm so that Lee could lean on his shoulder as he hobbled towards the door. He wrapped his arm tightly around Lee’s waist and tried to take as much of his weight as he could. Lee smelled of dried blood, stale sweat and musty straw, but Gaara couldn’t bring himself to care. He was alive and in one piece and that was all that mattered.

They followed Tenten and Sakura back across the dungeon and through the little door in the back wall. The narrow, spiraling staircase was slow going. It was barely wide enough for Lee and Gaara to walk up side by side, the damp stone was treacherous underfoot, and there was no handrail for Lee to use to pull himself upwards. By the time they reached the main cellar, Gaara’s shirt was sticking to the sweat on his back and Lee’s breath was coming in sharp gasps between clenched teeth. 

“I can carry you if you need me to,” Sakura told him.

He shook his head hard and leaned a bit more of his weight on Gaara’s shoulder. “Do not worry about me. If anything bad happens, I want you all to be able to run.”

“That’s right,” Gaara agreed, before Sakura could object. “If we’re caught on the way out, you and Tenten have a better chance of helping us if you can escape. I’ll stay with Lee.”

“No,” Lee protested. “You should go too.”

“I live here, Lee,” Gaara pointed out. “I can do whatever I want, and I want to stay with you.”

“He’s almost as stubborn as you are, Lee,” Tenten whispered. “Arguing with him is a waste of time.”

They hurried up the last flight of stairs before the door to the courtyard and Tenten slipped out first. Sakura, Lee and Gaara waited in the shadows behind the door. Tenten signaled to Shino up in one of the towers, who signaled back the all clear that the courtyard was empty and the guards were all far away. She beckoned the other three through the doorway and then slunk through the shadows along the wall, moving as fast as they dared. A wide archway opened into an adjoining courtyard and Tenten checked around the corner before hurrying past it, staying low to the ground. She peeked around the corner again and then beckoned Sakura forward. They motioned to Lee and Gaara after once again checking that the way was clear. 

As they darted forwards, Lee’s ankle gave out beneath him and Gaara tightened his arm around Lee’s waist to keep him upright. Lee yelped in pain and crumpled to the ground, nearly dragging Gaara down with him, breathing hard. 

“Lee, I’m so sorry,” Gaara whispered. “Please get up.”

“It is just my ribs, it is fine,” Lee ground out as he hauled himself upright again.

A door opened at the far end of the courtyard, spilling light across the flagstones, and a servant stepped out. 

“Who’s there?” he called to them. “Prince Gaara, is that you? His Majesty has been looking for you.”

Gaara and the servant both froze, staring at each other for a long moment. Then the servant turned on his heel and darted back inside.

“Run!” Gaara hissed.

For a moment, he thought Tenten would argue, her hand stretched out towards Lee. But Sakura grabbed her arm and towed her towards the outer door. 

“We’ll be back for you,” she flung over her shoulder as she ran.

“Can you move?” Gaara asked. Men were shouting in the hallways and the sound of running footsteps was drawing closer.

Lee nodded and took one stumbling step, then another. Soon they were running, though Lee’s gait was uneven and slow as he leaned on Gaara’s shoulder to keep the weight off his left leg. Gaara was much more careful now of the pressure he put on Lee’s side and it made it more difficult to support him.

They limped out the door that Tenten and Sakura had left open and hurried down one of the paths through the garden. Gaara took the straightest route for the wall that he could, knowing it would make it easier for the guards to find and catch them, but worried that a more winding route would be too difficult for Lee, even if it would provide some cover.

“We will have to go over the wall,” Lee muttered. “We cannot count on the gates being unguarded anymore.”

“Can you manage it?” Gaara asked. 

“Might need a little help,” Lee replied. 

Soon they found themselves at the foot of the stone wall that surrounded the palace compound. Behind them the guards called to one another in the garden, drawing ever closer. 

Lee rubbed the palms of his hands on his dusty trousers and squinted up at the wall. “I will just need a little boost on my bad leg.”

“Right.” Gaara crouched to cup Lee’s knee in the palms of his hands, and heaved upwards as Lee jumped. He caught hold of the lip of stone at the top of the wall and pulled himself up to lay on his belly at the top. He reached down and Gaara jumped to catch his hand, hanging on for dear life as Lee pulled him up as well. They swung their legs over and jumped down the other side, Lee yelping in pain again as his bad leg hit the ground. He caught himself on his hands as he fell, and knelt there on the cobblestones, gasping for breath and clutching his sides.

“We can’t stay here, we have to go,” Gaara whispered urgently.

Lee nodded and reached up for Gaara’s hand. With Gaara’s help, he slowly regained his feet. But his lips were white and his eyes unfocused, Gaara could feel his pulse fluttering far too fast under his skin.

“Don’t pass out, Lee,” Gaara whispered. “We have to go. I can’t carry you fast enough. They’ll catch us.”

Lee leaned on Gaara’s shoulder again and took a slow step forward. “I am okay.”

Iron horse shoes rang against the cobblestones and Gaara pulled Lee closer as though he could shield him from view with his own body. They stood under a streetlamp with their backs to the high stone wall, across from them a row of buildings stood so close together that there was not so much as an alleyway in between for them to hide in, even if they could cross the street fast enough. Gaara scanned desperately for a doorway, a shrub, anything that might conceal them.

A hansom cab clattered around the corner, rocking up on one wheel, the pony’s hooves sliding on the wet stones and the driver leaning hard to counterbalance the weight of the tipping carriage. It pulled up short in front of them, the pony snorting indignantly and tossing his shaggy head.

Matsuri stood up in the driver’s seat and tilted back a shabby coachman’s hat to grin at them. “Don’t just stand there! Get in!”

“Thank you,” Gaara breathed. 

He helped Lee into the carriage and climbed up after him. The pony started forward at a brisk trot the moment his boot heel left the cobblestones and he collapsed onto the worn leather upholstery of the seat next to Lee. Ice cold fingers found his wrist and Gaara shuffled closer so that he could bundle the cloak more tightly around Lee and then pull him into his arms. Lee’s head slumped onto his chest and his arms encircled him, holding on weakly, but still holding on. Here, real, very much alive. Gaara’s heart was still pounding in his ears and Lee’s thundered beneath his hands until he couldn’t tell the one from the other. Lee’s body trembled against his, but whether from cold and exhaustion, or from fear, Gaara couldn’t tell. 

He was careful not to hold Lee too tightly, but he pressed his face into Lee’s hair and whispered, “Oh god, Lee, I’m so sorry.”

“You saved me,” Lee mumbled. His trembling arms tightened around Gaara’s waist.

“You never would have been in that situation if it weren’t for me,” Gaara protested. “I’m sorry. I should have known to expect something like that.”

“No.” Lee’s hands bunched into fists against the back of his waistcoat. “You should not have to think that way.”

“But. . .”

“It was my fault,” Lee whispered, sitting upright with some effort so that he could look Gaara in the eye. “I let my guard down and was caught.”

“Don’t say that.” Gaara leaned forward so that his forehead rested against Lee’s cheek. 

The carriage slowed and something thumped against the back of it, causing it to rock on its wheels. Someone vaulted through the door and landed crouched on the floorboards. Gaara sprang to his feet, shoving Lee behind him even as he reached for the dagger in his boot.

“Prince Gaara, it’s me!” Tenten threw her hood back and held up her hands.

He fell back into the seat and Lee reached for his hand again. Tenten shuffled closer to peer up into Lee’s face. Sakura’s voice carried through the back wall of the carriage, talking urgently with Matsuri up in the driver’s seat. 

“Lee? Are you going to be okay?” Tenten asked.

Lee seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes open, but he blinked at Tenten and nodded once resolutely, before shifting closer to Gaara and dropping his head onto his shoulder. 

“Get some rest,” Tenten told him. She patted his knee and then turned towards Gaara. “Seems we all made it out okay. Choji had to bolt because a patrol started eyeing him. Sakura and I are going to meet up with Shikamaru shortly.”

She took a deep breath and leaned up to smooth back Lee’s bloody, dusty hair, clearly stalling.

Finally, she said, “Prince Gaara, you know you can’t go back to the palace now, right?”

“Yes, I know,” he replied. “I was seen.”

“Right,” she whispered. “You and Lee have to get out of Suna. Matsuri is going to take you right out of the city tonight. There’s no time to go back for anything. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said softly. “I won’t miss it. Temari and Kankuro though, where are they? Are they safe?”

“Still at Neji’s place. We’ll tell them what’s happened.”

“Good,” Gaara whispered. “Good.”

Sakura knocked on the back wall of the carriage and Tenten stood. “We’re approaching the city gates now. Sakura and I have to go, but we’ll be in touch shortly.”

She paused at the edge of the carriage as they slowed and met Gaara’s eyes. “Look after him.” 

“You have my word,” Gaara promised. 

Tenten jumped out of the carriage and it bounced slightly as Sakura jumped down as well. The two sprinted away together into the night.

Gaara pulled up the hood of the cloak to hide Lee’s face, wishing he had something to cover his own distinctive hair. Lee raised one arm, wincing in pain as he did so, to throw the cloak across Gaara as well. Perhaps to the guards at the gate they would look like a couple sleeping through a long journey home after a night of revelry in the city.

The cab approached the gate at a lazy trot and Matsuri deepened her voice to a gruff bark as she called out a casual greeting to the guards. They merely grunted back at her, half asleep at their posts. Clearly, if the alarm had been raised in the palace, word hadn’t reached the city walls yet. 

He breathed a sigh of relief once they were past the wall and the cluster of buildings and guardhouses at the gate, and Lee let the cloak drop, wincing in pain again. Gaara could hear his breath hissing between his teeth so close to his ear. 

Matsuri kicked against the back of the carriage to get his attention and he stood up to stick his head out.

“Make yourselves comfortable in there,” she told him. “It’s gonna be a long drive.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Matsuri. For everything.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” she warned. “I’ll believe we’re well and truly safe when I can’t see the city on the horizon any longer and we can be sure we haven’t been followed.”

He ducked back inside and sat back down. Lee immediately moved to lay his head on Gaara’s shoulder again and Gaara pulled Lee’s hand into his lap and rubbed his cold fingers with his free hand. “You’re freezing.”

Lee only nodded and pressed the backs of his cold fingers against Gaara’s pant leg.

“Come here, let me look at you,” Gaara coaxed, lifting Lee’s head up so that he could examine his face in the thin light of the carriage’s lantern.

Lee opened his eyes as Gaara gently turned his face this way and that, supporting himself with one hand braced on Gaara’s knee. Gaara found a gash hidden under his hair that had scabbed over but left a trail of blood all the way down to the collar of his shirt. There were flecks of dried blood clinging to the corners of his nose and a bruise blossoming above one eye.

“You said they tried not to hit your face?” Gaara asked him, struggling to confine the rage that turned his stomach at the very thought.

Lee nodded and his head wobbled, his eyelids drooped. 

“Lee,” Gaara said seriously. “Tell me exactly how badly you’re hurt.”

“It is okay. I have survived much worse,” Lee told him. He leaned closer, his head resting heavy in the palms of Gaara’s hands as though that was all that was holding him up.

Gaara took deep breaths through his nose to calm the churning in his stomach. “This is the second time you’ve been hurt because of me.”

“Hurt instead of you,” Lee corrected, smiling softly. He raised his eyes to Gaara’s. “It would have been you if it was not me, so I am thankful it is me.”

“Don’t say that!” Gaara cried, and Lee smiled at him again. Tired and bruised, but smiling no less, his cheek warm beneath the palm of Gaara’s hand. He was looking at Gaara in that way again, the way that no one else had ever looked at him, and Gaara found himself leaning in, lips parting as Lee’s head inclined towards him. 

But then he noticed again the ashen pallor of Lee’s skin, the way he struggled to keep his eyes open and seemed to keep sliding out of focus, the evidence of his exhaustion in every drooping line of his limbs. He pulled back.

Gaara lifted Lee’s hand away from his knee and bent his head to place a soft kiss on the back of Lee’s hand, just the way Lee had done to him in the entrance hall of Neji’s house, what felt like a lifetime ago. Then a second, lingering kiss on the inside of Lee’s wrist where his pulse drummed along reassuringly beneath warm skin.

“You should sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll keep you safe and wake you when we get there.”

Lee looked for a moment like he wanted to argue, but his head nodded forwards and Gaara drew him closer so that Lee could rest on his shoulder, their hands still entwined in his lap. 

Gaara leaned his head against Lee’s, his thumb resting at the pulse point of his wrist, where his lips had been moments before. He counted each of Lee’s deep, slow breaths. The hansom cab bumped and jostled its way along the dirt road, deeper into the countryside, as the lights of Suna winked out behind them one by one.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for taking a moment to appreciate the art!! You can find us on tumblr where we are [@lilac-writes](https://lilac-writes.tumblr.com/) and [@flightlessdevotee](https://flightlessdevotee.tumblr.com/)


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